


Fatal Desire

by ashesandflame



Series: Tales of Blood and Water (SKZ Dark Fairy Tales) [3]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Felix is a magical ocean prince that's it that's the story, Felix is a siren, Fuckery, Gen, Horror, I have no justification for this I just wanted to write something magical and dark, Magic, Origin Story, Sirens, This is inspired by Hans Christian Andersen and Grimm Brothers, oh boy I'm using that word loosely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashesandflame/pseuds/ashesandflame
Summary: First, there were sighs and coos and laughter. Daerin readied himself to turn in for the night, unwilling to play their games if they were just going to ooh and ah at a fish.Then there were screams.
Series: Tales of Blood and Water (SKZ Dark Fairy Tales) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993489
Kudos: 11





	Fatal Desire

**Author's Note:**

> **TW // BLOOD ! I MADE ART FOR THIS AND THERE IS BLOOD. Also there's gore in the story itself**
> 
> This sets the stage for the Little Mermaid retelling I'm putting up within the next couple of days, and it's really not all that fanfic-y, but it's Halloween! So enjoy some bloodthirsty siren!Felix.

“Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!  
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;  
Man marks the earth with ruin—his control  
Stops with the shore.”  
\- Lord Byron

“She laughed and danced with the thought of death in her heart.”  
― Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid

* * *

For now and always, humanity’s weakest point would be their unspoken desires. It was easy to torment them, break them, when you poked at their secret hearts, the ones that had never grown with them into adulthood. It was _fun_ , breaking down their weary, youthful spirits in the name of beating back their hubris.

Humanity would never win against the sea. Not when they were so weak of heart.

He would just have to prove it to them, again and again.

The very thought brought a grin to his face.

* * *

“Captain.”

He had to wonder if coming on this ship had been worth it. The money itself was not intriguing, nor was the promise of glory. He could not care less that His Majesty had called on him by name. No, for him, the only payment to make this journey worthwhile was the promise of seeing his boy’s cheeks fill out, of seeing his wife glow when they learned their family would grow by one.

The moon looked down on him, smug at his human insignificance. He had been asked to come here, but only because he had the least to lose in the eyes of the kingdom. No land to forfeit, no heirs to appoint. He was just a man with a taste for salt-stained air and a small family stationed in the countryside. If he died, the kingdom would lose nothing.

Black waters hissed his name. Coral waved at him from inky depths. Here, in this moment, he was certain he _would_ die.

But there were more important things. “Yes, Everlo?”

His oldest friend. His second-in-command. Everlo, who had always been deathly afraid of the water yet ever addicted to adventure.

“The crew, they’re . . .” Everlo worried his lip between his teeth. “They worry, crossing over this part of the Big Blue.”

He turned to Everlo, taking in the mussed hair barely contained in its ponytail. “And just what are they scared of?”

Everlo made a face at him, as if to ask how he could be confused in the slightest. His cheeks had sunken even further than their usual sharpness during his time aboard the ship. “The Prince of Death, Captain. _That’s_ what they’re afraid of.”

The Prince of Death, Monarch of the Sea, Water-Born Demon. All mantles worn by the _thing_ that may or may not lurk beneath the waters of the southwestern waters. Said to be horrendously beautiful, to make his victims beg for freedom, either in life or death. To wholly break them before throwing them away.

“Those stories are told to keep people off the trade route, Everlo,” he said. “There is no monster in the water. No prince, no demon—I don’t think you could even catch a fish bigger than your _head_ here.”

It was as blatant a lie as he dared to tell; there were certainly gargantuan creatures living in these waters, but he would not be pressured into believing in a bloodthirsty, magical prince. Everlo’s wry brow told him he wasn’t so easily fooled by his nonsense.

The moon ducked behind loosely strung clouds, shrouding the ship in darkness. The whispers of the sea turned to song, a lullaby to which he’d fallen asleep each night for nearly half a year. How could the sea be terrifying when it lived and breathed just as they did?

“Daerin.”

It was the first time he’d heard his name spoken in months. The last time he had heard those two precious syllables, his wife had been pressing her hands to his cheeks, his chest, his hair, demanding he come back to her in one piece. For her sake. For Jula’s.

He missed her like a wilting flower missed summer’s sun. Mustering up the energy to speak, he repeated, “Yes, Everlo?”

But his friend had nothing to say. There was only a wistful look tossed back in his direction, the lines of his mouth weight down by the words he’d refused to utter. Before he ducked belowdecks, Everlo said, “Just make sure you get through this alive. Please.”

Everlo sounded so resigned that Daerin demanded his mouth move to form even a half-coherent sentence, but all he could do was watch his friend disappear behind the cabin door. It would be okay, he reasoned; they were docking soon. There would be several chances to check up on him.

He wondered how his little boy was doing. He had always been frail, in heart and body, wailing whenever he stepped on the smallest insect. If he shut his eyes and _listened . . ._ he could hear those small cries, warbling and guilt stricken. But there was something about that memory, something that had shifted since Daerin had last heard it . . .

No, it was likely the distance and time he’d spent away from his son that was making him uncertain. Jula was small, but stubborn in his bright eyes and slim cheeks. His was a soul much too kind for a world such as this one, but there was pride to be had in him all the same.

Phantom sunlight ghosted his cheeks, reminding him of the summer he’d left behind before setting out onto the autumn-painted seas. That same warmth pressed its palms to his cheeks, not unlike his wife’s, before sliding down his neck with a too-sharp touch—

Daerin’s eyes snapped open, bleary for a split second before he refocused on the darkened moon. He thought he still heard his little boy’s wails. He scrubbed the memory from his ears, though he could not escape the jittery feeling of the touch that reminded him so much of his wife’s.

“You don’t remember what it’s like to be held by me, my love?”

Daerin’s breath crystalized in his throat, burning like salt and pricking his flesh like needles. “Lynia.”

Lynia smiled at him, wonderous, with every bit of the sun’s warmth written into the rouge of her lips and the crescents of her eyes. Daerin took a half-step forward, head light with disbelief and heart thumping erratically in his chest. Lynia was in front of him in the time it took to blink—but how had she done that?

Each of his worries were wiped away when she brought her hands, beautifully scarred and only ever gentle, up to his cheeks. “My love, you look ill. Does this ocean still have its hold on you, after all these years?”

Daerin could say nothing, both out of bewilderment and lack of understanding. He had never _left_ the sea, for he was meant to be here, no matter how much the little voice in his heart wished he did not.

Lynia frowned, an expression she so seldom wore that Daerin was taken aback. “How are you _meant_ to be there when what you want most is your family?”

Her voice was strange. Too deep, too pitchy, too—

The light vanishing from her gaze was enough to make him gasp. “Oh,” she sighed in a voice of rotting coral and crashing waves, lips bending into a deeper frown, “it’s never _fun_ when they catch on.”

Lynia’s face lost its stunning roundness. Her eyes, previously lit by summer and sunbeams, were now alight with hellfire and ocean glow. Daerin couldn’t blink away the imperfections to her face, nor could he see what truly lay in front of him. A moment later there was a cold hand pressed against his eyes and a whispering voice that belonged to the coldest of hells.

“I’ll be back for you.”

Then he was startlingly alone, cold at his front, in his soul, in his heart. Silence crawled up his legs and chest, into his ears and mouth with a burning rancour.

The silence ended when people crashed through the door and onto the deck, each member of his crew near-delirious as they raced for the railing. It wasn’t out of character for them to be excited—the only thing worse than being away from his family would have been a boring crew—but Daerin was too startled, too off-kilter to accept it easily. He approached them, curious about their excitement and eager to forget his strange illusions.

First, there were sighs and coos and laughter. Daerin readied himself to turn in for the night, unwilling to play their games if they were just going to ooh and ah at a fish.

Then there were screams.

Daerin spun around in time to see one of his crew go overboard, legs flailing before there was a catastrophic splash in the water.

It was too heavy to have only been one body.

Like fruit flies swatted away from a rotting plum, his crew scurried back to the centre of the deck, eyes wide and feet slipping on the slippery surface. Some of them were still shouting, others muttering to themselves. Daerin, however, could not stop counting heads, trying to recall how many he’d started with and just who had gone overboard. They had stopped moving between one flash of the moon and the next, the sail twitching limply in the breeze. That shouldn’t be the case—not when the winds were always wild in this part of the ocean.

His thoughts were cleaved in two by that voice of wretched sea.

“I haven’t been this entertained in months,” the voice said. It bloomed from the centre of his mind like ink in water, beat against his ears like the ceaseless tide. It was still beautiful, and it still dug claws into his heart. “Your crew is interesting, Captain. None of them seem to like the sea as much as you do.”

The moon shivered and writhed until it became the sun. It burned brighter and brighter until Daerin had to look away, close his eyes and rub at them until the spots of colour faded from his vision. A sharp smell breeched his nose, honey-like and tart. Behind it was the unmistakable scent of dewy grass and sweat that was always sweeter when it came from hard work.

No. Where had the moon gone? The sea, the night, his _crew_ —

“Papa!” came a familiar whine. “You’ll get cherry juice in your eyes!”

Daerin blinked once, twice, before peering down at his son. “Jula?”

“Why are you saying my name like that?” Jula asked, leaning back on his hands. Grass peeked up between his bony fingers—and when had they gotten to the orchard? “Did I do something wrong?”

It was the watery note to his voice that made Daerin sink down onto his knees without a care for how the grass would stain his slacks. But when had he ever worried about such a thing?

Why _shouldn’t_ he worry about his state of dress? After all, he’d done the work to bring his family here. He had finally managed it, set sail one last time with his wife by his side and his son in front of him, eyes forward on new lands. He had taken them away. He’d given them everything.

“Mama!” Jula cried with clear trepidation. “Papa’s gone mad.”

 _Lynia_. The boat, the claws, the—

“You know that’s not nice to say, Jula.”

Daerin’s head snapped up, eager to look into the face of his wife and see the earthly perfection with which he’d fallen in love. He could have sobbed when he saw the unique arch to her nose, the way her cheeks had never lost their softness despite the sharp inquisitiveness in her gaze.

“You’re okay,” he said around a sigh, so relieved he sagged.

Lynia’s brows dipped in the middle. “Oh, dear. You’ve been having your episodes again, haven’t you?”

Episodes? No, _no_ —

“Mama . . .”

Lynia brushed away a few stray blades of grass that had made their way into Jula’s hair. “Why don’t you see if there’s any more fruit to be had, my love. We’ll need all we can get if we’re to make enough for tomorrow’s guests.”

Heat splashed against his face. Daerin reached up to wipe it away, but there was only refreshing cherry juice and the promise of sweltering noon.

“Daerin,” Lynia said gravely, “you said you were no longer plagued by that day.”

 _What day?_ Oh how desperately he wanted to ask, but that look in her eyes, that _pity_ —

But no, that couldn’t be pity. Not from his wife. Not from Lynia. She was _worried_ , he realized—and, it seemed, for good reason. Neither Jula nor Lynia had ever looked at him with such concern in their eyes, and there was a pang in his heart that demanded he reconcile it.

He tried to move closer to Lynia, to know that she was still the warmest thing in the orchard, but he slipped on the wet grass. His hands came away stained with red, the sky wavering like crumpled velvet between sky-blue and midnight-navy. _Warm, coppery—fresh, sweet_ —

“Do I need to tell the guests that you’re too sick to partake in tomorrow’s festivities?”

The Summer Solstice. Their first chance at connecting with the people in the city. He had been more enthusiastic than even Jula about the whole affair, suggesting they try to recreate his late mother’s pie recipe for the occasion.

“No,” he said, pouring every bit of certainty he could into his tone. “No, my love, I’ll be more than ready to great our guests.”

He finally found footing on the grass, scooting over to his wife. His heart leaped in a well-practiced joy when she beamed up at him, lying back against the ground with curious tilt to her head. He’d always been the one to follow her lead, trace her footsteps, and it was no different now; he followed her down, elbow planted below him to keep himself steady. His other hand came up to brush away the thick lock of ivory hair laid against her brow. He was surprised to find cherry juice had managed to get into her hair as well. He looked down at her to ask when she had even had the chance to get so messy—

But it was not her face he saw.

Barbs surrounded his lungs, keeping him from screaming like he so desperately wanted to. Those eyes that had always been too sad, too resigned, were gouged out. Blood ran down cheeks in a sorry impression of tears. The face before him was swathed in hunger-born shadow and crimson, hair matted down but still impossibly messy. Lower still was a small cavern in a stagnant chest, shards of ivory peeking out from glistening, shredded flesh to reveal a missing heart.

The stench was the next thing to hit him. Salty like the air he had been breathing these past few months, but headier, warmer, a promise of death more certain than any secrecy kept by the ocean. The smell of excrement made him want lurch forward and empty his stomach, and it was only bone-fracturing terror that kept him in place—terror, and loss, and helplessness.

Daerin needed to howl, to screech—whatever would dispel the ache in his chest caused by the sight before him.

What came out was neither, voice ruined by heartbreak and the bile itching at the base of his throat. It was a small, precarious whisper. The sort that begged the stars to tell him it was a lie. “ _Everlo_ . . .”

That _voice_ bloomed in his mind once more. “His heart was filled with you, you know.”

This time Daerin did scream. He tried to scramble away from Everlo’s prone body, only to slip and watch the sky blur as he fell. His chin smacked loudly against the soaked floorboards.

_Soaked?_

Daerin opened his eyes against the stars swirling in his vision to see that the deck of his ship looked no different than the black waters around them. It was sticky and warm, and—

His body was not his own. His eyes were tricking him again. For the million time, because _this_ — This could not be his reality—not when the blood flowed like a current and the bodies of his crew were nothing more than rocks jutting out from the waves.

He couldn’t move when there were hands curling around his throat, dragging him into a half-slump that put too much pressure on his neck. The touch was wet and cool, sinking all the way to the marrow of his bones and hollowing out whatever it touched. “You know,” said the creature, “I don’t have much of an effect on those who are true to themselves. It’s those who are ashamed, those who are _quiet_ , that never walk away.”

His vision had gone foggy, a combination of disbelief- and nausea-born tears making it almost impossible to see. From this angle he was in the perfect spot to watch the flag at the top of the crow’s nest sway. It was in tatters, hanging from the edge of the basket—

No, he realized, it was not their flag at all. It was the shreds of the man who had been there, guts strewn around the rim of the basket and blood dripping over the edge like a spluttering fountain.

“But that right hand of yours . . . ,” the creature continued, stopped Daerin’s grief before it could truly blossom. “Oh, _Captain_ , his guilt was so sweet. Every inch of his heart had your name written on it. The poor thing never got to say a word about what he wanted, and all because he cared about _you_.” Cold breath puffed against Daerin’s ears. “I can’t fathom why. But I only play with the desire of you animals—I don’t question it.”

Words bubbled up in Daerin’s throat, lava that threatened to cool inside his mouth if he didn’t speak soon. “Show me your face.”

The claws at his neck twitched. The touch grew impossibly colder. “You’re _bold_ , for a simple ship captain.” The air dropped in temperature, and Daerin had the sickening thought that the thing was _smiling_. “But I’ll play your game. After all, I did just condemn those who choose not to speak of what they want.”

His world spun on countless axes before Daerin realized he was being held delicately over the railing of his ship. He grappled for purchase, feeling more blood under his hands, as well as what the tooth of someone who’d likely fallen against it. His stomach rocked, sending acid and whatever he’d downed for lunch into his mouth. He wanted to swallow it down, but the hand at his throat only tightened, and it dribbled out from his lips, burning his skin.

The thing in front of him scoffed, though it did not concern itself with taking its hand away. “Humans are so filthy,” it sighed. That voice it had was closer to the crash of thunder now, though it was too pleased for Daerin to know how to react.

His vision cleared, though only enough to see what was directly in front of him. It was a sketch made of blood, or ink coloured like it. It mattered not; what sent chills crawling across Daerin’s skin was what the ink depicted: a fish’s skeleton, with a sword as the spine. A crown sat above it all, lodged into the hollow of the creature’s throat.

“The Prince of Death,” he whispered in that same broken voice that Everlo’s death had ripped out of him. He thought of his best friend, chest gouged out—his crew, ripped to piece and strewn about the deck like decoration.

“Is that what you animals call me now?” the prince wondered. “I suppose I should be flattered. After all, there’s nothing more terrifying than the unknown to those with unflappable egos, and there is _nothing_ more secretive to your kind than death.”

He leaned forward, opening his maw and delicately pressing his teeth to Daerin’s thrumming pulse points. Daerin only felt the warmth blooming at his groin when the prince made a disgusted noise in the base of his throat. “Couldn’t control yourself for a little longer, Captain?”

The whimper tumbling from his lips was the same sort Jula would have let loose at the thought of going to sleep in the dark.

Oh, his little boy. “Jula . . .”

The prince hummed, righting Daerin’s head so he could look into the eyes of the monster who had boarded his ship. The prince was naked as any newborn babe, drenched in blood and seawater and ecstasy. He had killed everyone here—

And he had enjoyed it.

Again, Daerin whimpered, wishing that he could go back and hug Jula tighter, kiss Lynia harder, demand that Everlo say what he had wanted to say.

“Is that _regret_ I see on your face, Captain? But whyever would you _regret_ something?”

The prince lifted him higher, just enough that the railing dug painfully into Daerin’s spine and his feet were left with no purchase on the deck. Not that that would have been much use, covered in blood and excrement as it was.

“Is it because you knew you should have stopped that friend of yours?” The prince shrugged his shoulders, muscles unstrained as he kept Daerin firmly in place. “It happens to the best of your kind. You only see what you wish to see.” He pushed Daerin further over the edge. His spine was going to break soon, either under the force of his fear or the pressure of the prince’s hand at his neck. “What I _don’t_ understand is how you lot are somehow surprised when your ignorance comes back to haunt you. Your secrecy has a price. Everything you vermin do has a _consequence_ ,” the prince spat, blood spraying onto Daerin’s neck. Whose blood now sunk into his skin? “The sooner you realize that, the sooner I’ll stop tearing your hearts out.”

Daerin blinked away the tears from his eyes, desperate to see the face of the creature who now held Daerin’s life in his hands. His ears were fine, perfect fish fins, teeth sharp like razors and hair coloured like the oceans in the Tropics. His skin was not the sickly pale he was said to have—no, his skin was rich with sun and vitality. The contempt in his aquamarine eyes had clearly been brewing for years.

“But,” the prince lilted, “I would be lying if I said I didn’t _deeply_ enjoy this.”

It was just a simple swipe of his hands, but the prince had left four deep cuts in Daerin’s gut, one of them more than likely nicking his bowels. A torch had been taken to his gut, surely, because everywhere _burned_ , white-hot where the prince had slashed at his skin.

There was not a power strong enough in the world to stop Daerin from howling now.

“I have to give you _something_ to remember me by,” the prince sang, “because I didn’t get to break your bones like I broke theirs. I didn’t get to leave you in pieces, but _this_ —this memory, this fear, will always be with you.” The prince touched a hand to Daerin’s cheek—the very same hand with which he’d just cut Daerin—in a poor replication of Lynia’s touch. “Do you know why I do this, Captain? Do you know why I never sink ships? Why I never let _everyone_ die?”

The prince dug his claws into Daerin’s cheek with such ferocity that it sunk right through the skin, just barely missing his tongue. Daerin wailed as best he could, choking on his blood and gasping around the sharp nails that still sat in his mouth. The prince twisted his hand, pressing the tip of his claws to the rood of Daerin’s mouth. More blood pooled, sliding down his throat and making him gag. The pain took away large pieces of his vision, leaving him half-blind as he tried his hardest to not fall overboard.

“Because, if I did, you lot would never _learn_. They would not their one crucial truth: that they are merely animals. Critters who have fooled themselves into being the apex predator. They have desires, and they have instincts, yet they have the _gall_ to walk this earth as if they rule sky and sea.” The prince pulled his hand out in a swift motion, leaving an even bigger gash in Daerin’s cheek. Daerin sobbed anew, pain assaulting his every thought and breath. He almost wished he were right next to Everlo, ignorant and safe from the _thing_ before him. Safe from the Monarch of the Sea.

The prince grabbed his face with a savage roughness, blood-stained teeth bared in the moonlight like the ocean’s rarest gems. “I have watched you apes trick yourselves into feeling self-important, and so I’ve mastered a pretty little trick that always, _always_ breaks you down. You saw it firsthand, Captain— _twice!_ No one ever survives me twice.

“But _you._ All you want is a peaceful life for your family. But there was something else, wasn’t there? A nice little detour in that vision that threw _me_ for a loop.” The prince lightly dragged a clawed finger across Daerin’s eye. He wanted that claw to sink into his eye. He did not wish to look this nightmare in the face any longer. “You want an _excuse_ to be away from the sea. You want to be broken so that no one can fault you from turning away from your ship.”

More and more tears fell across his cheeks, burning his wounds and warming his sea-cooled cheeks—because the prince was _right_. Daerin could not turn away from the sea without an excuse, yet he yearned for it all the same.

“All of you,” the prince growled, leaving another handful of scars across Daerin’s heart. “ _All of you_ are nothing but _animals._ ” The prince pulled his hand away with an idle curiosity completely at odds with the fury in his eyes. He stuck his tongue out, just a little pointed, and swiped it along his palm, humming at the taste. Daerin’s mouth was filled with bile once more, and there weren’t enough nerves in his whole body to understand the pain smeared along every inch of his skin.

“And so I do this. My conquests. These killings. Because there has to be a survivor,” the prince said idly. “Someone who tells the rest of your land of my name.”

Daerin’s vision began spotting out, the prince’s voice fading away as if Daerin had fallen beneath the waves.

 _Please,_ he thought, _let me fall overboard._

But the prince was not finished. His voice was devastating in its quietness when he next spoke. “There has to be someone who conveys this one, simple message:

“Man does not own the sea. Man, in its wonderous simplicity, cannot even gain independence from its fatal desires.”

* * *

Rowboats and grand ships stood ready for departure at the dock. The ocean was hardly warmed by the autumn-cool sun, but it mattered not to a creature like him. Precious little ever did matter where it did not concern his promise to the sea.

He pressed himself against the bottom of the dock, playing with the rough would or a moment. Would was never the same under the sea, rotted out and splotchy. Here it was pleasantly painful against his already-tough skin.

He shook his head out. There were more crucial things.

He listened carefully as the humans readied themselves to set sail once more. The story of Captain Daerin’s return had been nothing short of explosive, the man left with mangled scars all along his face and chest with nothing but a story of magic and horror to justify them. A couple days out from medical care and months away from his family had done horrible things to both his skin and the light in his eyes, but that was of little importance. Daerin had conveyed the message word-for-word. He had done the exact thing Felix had hoped he would do.

So why were the humans plotting all over again?

“You _heard_ what that old man said,” came a startlingly young voice. “The Prince of Death is still out there! There’s no way we’re making it through those waters alive!”

He grinned to himself, glad that the island was safe for another year. No ship would cross the sea in the winter.

But the other man had plans. “Daerin is afraid to admit that he got into a fight with the dogs across the sea. He made up that story to keep his pride intact.” He scoffed, loosening the ropes with a great _thud_ against the dock. “He always has been softer than that bitch he calls a wife.”

The young voice spoke up once more, disgustingly boldened by the older man’s words. “So we’re setting sail?”

“That’s right, young man. Because we, unlike _Captain Daerin_ , are not cowards. We own up to our weaknesses. We’re taking that half-dead prince we found in the cave, and we’re selling him off, and His Majesty will be at our feet in thanks.”

He could stand to hear no more of it. He rushed away from the dock, uncaring that he’d alerted the two men above him with his great splash, and tore through the currents to get home as fast as he could.

After all, it seemed the Monarch of the Sea had one more show to make for his hubristic audience.

**Author's Note:**

> [curious cat!](https://curiouscat.qa/ahgaslayy)
> 
> [twitter!](https://twitter.com/svnsmayday)


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